The Potluck Club

by Linda Evans Shepherd; Eva Marie Everson

  Donna, after all, had been the victim of a wife leaving her husband when her mother left her father. She’d be just full of a biased viewpoint . . . if he could just figure out where she’d been hiding herself.

  Then again, Clay mused, when she read this week’s Gold Rush News, she wasn’t going to be too pleased with him, not pleased at all.

  34

  Scalding Story

  The Monday morning sky was gray, a clear sign of the colder days to come. I both looked forward to and dreaded this time of year; the snowy white blanket capping the mountains and lawns is truly something to behold, but the brown slush that follows (not to mention the days stuck indoors) I am not particularly fond of.

  When I walked into the kitchen, I found that Leigh was already there, toasting English muffins. She looked like she hadn’t slept well, and I said so.

  Leaning against the counter, she replied, “I didn’t. This baby! It kicked all night.” She rubbed the roundness of her belly, which I noticed appeared to have dropped a bit.

  “You’re dropping,” I said, walking over to the refrigerator and pulling out the gallon jug of orange juice.

  Leigh nodded. “I know. Dr. Henderson says it won’t be much longer.” Dr. Henderson, the ob-gyn from over in Breckenridge, had been treating Leigh since she’d arrived.

  “I see.” I poured my juice into a glass I’d taken out of the cabinet. “Leigh, don’t you think we should talk about Gary?”

  Leigh’s English muffins popped up from the toaster, crisp and golden brown. “Not really.” She pulled the muffins out, laid them on a nearby waiting plate, and then slathered them with margarine from a tub. She replaced the lid on the tub, but rather than place it back in the refrigerator, she slid it over a few inches. “There’s nothing really to discuss.” She shook her head. “That’s not entirely true. I did speak with him a few nights ago.”

  “What?” I jerked the refrigerator door open, returning the orange juice, then stepped over and reached for the butter.

  Leigh took a bite of the muffin, stuffing it in the side of her mouth. “He insists that I go back home before it’s too late and I end up delivering out here.” She chewed and swallowed. “He says it’s not right for me to deprive him of the baby’s birth. He says he’s talked to Mom and Dad and—”

  “He’s talked with Peg and Matthew? When was this?”

  “I don’t know, Aunt Evie. Goodness, I don’t know anything anymore.”

  I pointed a finger at my niece. “Now you listen to me, Leigh Banks. You do what you think is best and don’t let anyone talk you into anything you don’t want to do.”

  “Well, that’s news. I thought you’d be all for me going back.”

  I took a sip of the juice. “Fine thing when a man doesn’t say he misses the woman who is about to be the mother of his child. He’s more worried about missing a birth? Not that I don’t think he has rights, but let’s keep our priorities straight. Besides, I don’t want him pressuring you into doing something like moving in with him.”

  Leigh smirked. “No problem there, Aunt Evie.”

  I folded my arms across my middle. “Tell me something, Leigh. Do you still love him?”

  Leigh didn’t answer right away. Then she said, “Yes, I do. Very much. But I want it to be right.”

  The day continued to be gloomy. While Leigh rested for the better part of it, I finished up some paperwork until I grew tired and opted for a nap myself. Rather than returning to my room, I stretched out on the sofa, becoming less and less aware of the sounds of life from beyond the front window, and slipped into a frenzied dream.

  Vonnie and I were back at college, but we looked as we look now. Everyone else looked like they did back all those years ago, but Vonnie and I had somehow managed to age. We were talking about our classes and about going to a pep rally later on in the week.

  Then Vonnie pointed to a bench where the young man she’d been sitting with in the yearbook photograph sat smiling at the two of us. “Look at that,” Vonnie said to me. “Isn’t he a hottie?”

  I woke with a jerk, sitting straight up, feeling strangely nauseous. Dear Lord, what is it about that photograph that’s got me feeling so odd?

  The following day I told Leigh I would be out most of the day, but I didn’t say where I was going. Fortunately, she didn’t ask. Maybe she thought I was going to the grocery store or something, I don’t know, and at that moment I really didn’t care. All I knew for sure was that for some strange reason the thought of my old friend Vonnie sitting on that bench with the dark-haired man gazing at her as though she were the world’s best banana pudding bothered me. Since I’d discovered it, there’d been a few times I’d thought to ask Vonnie about it, but something always stopped me.

  Maybe it wasn’t my place to ask, maybe it wasn’t even my place to know . . . but I wanted to satisfy my curiosity, and if driving to Cherry Creek College was what it took, then I would do it.

  Within three hours of leaving my house, I had signed in as a guest and made my way over to the college library, where old yearbooks were kept, I suppose for posterity. I asked one of the librarians for the years 1964 through 1967, just to cover my bases, then took them to one of the many large oak desks and sat down.

  The books were heavy and musty. I wrinkled my nose as I opened ’65, slowly making my way through pages of faculty most likely all dead and buried now, miniskirts, and boys with long hair. There were a few photos of peace rallies and kids piled in VW bugs. Some photos made me laugh, and others brought feelings too poignant to linger over long, lest I begin to cry.

  It was in the ’65 yearbook that I found the photograph of the young man who’d sat with Vonnie on the bench. I ran my finger from the black-and-white school picture to just under where his name was registered. Joseph Ray Jewel, it read. Pre-med.

  Joseph Ray Jewel. I let the name roll around in my head for a moment or two, but it didn’t cause any memories to surface. Joe, perhaps? Ray? Joe Jewel? Ray Jewel?

  Nothing.

  I sighed, resigning myself to either hitting Vonnie head-on with what I knew or simply letting it slide. I closed the book, restacked the collection of yearbooks, then returned them to the librarian with a “thank you very much.”

  “Find what you were looking for?” she asked.

  “Yes,” I said, though in truth I had not.

  I returned to my car and began the drive home, wondering what I would tell Leigh as to my long absence. Not that I had to tell her anything. At my age I should certainly be able to do what I please, when I please.

  As I hit Summit View’s city limit sign, I passed Donna Vesey in her Ford Bronco heading in the opposite direction.

  And that was when it hit me. Something she’d said at the Potluck meeting when Vonnie had told us about Jan. “Hey, ladies, let me ask you a question,” she’d said. “Any of you who’ve been in town a while know of a woman by the name of Jewel?”

  I’d looked from Donna to the sofa, where Lizzie and Goldie exchanged blank glances. “No, why?” I’d answered.

  “A few weeks ago I stopped a man from California. Name of David Harris. Nice-looking guy too,” she’d added. “Thirty-five. Close to six foot. Black hair. Brown eyes. Looks Hispanic. Maybe Mexican. Mexican-American. Hard to say, really.” Lisa Leann then made a crude statement about Julio Iglesias. Donna had continued. “Apparently he has a mother here. I’m thinking he was adopted and is trying to find her.”

  My hand clamped over my mouth as I inhaled deeply. Vonnie’s sudden departure to Berkeley . . . her love for dolls . . . her favorite doll, Amanda Jewel—Jewel!—fit like the final pieces to a very large puzzle. “Oh, sweet Jesus in heaven,” I declared. “Vonnie Westbrook, what have you done?”

  I slowed my car, turning it around at the nearest section of the road that wouldn’t get me hit by an oncoming car, then sped along, trying to catch up with Donna. When I came up behind her, I flashed my lights several times until I saw her gaze into her rearview mirror, then pull over. I pulled b
ehind her, parking my car, then got out and came up to the driver’s side of the Bronco. Donna had lowered the window, her forearm resting on top of the pane. She looked at me as if I’d lost my mind.

  Maybe I had.

  “What’s going on?” she asked me. “Is it Leigh? Has she gone into labor?”

  “We’ve got to talk.”

  “About what?”

  “Do you remember a while back you mentioned a man who was looking for a woman named Jewel?”

  I watched Donna’s face grow dark. “Yeah. What about it?”

  “I want you to drop it. If you see the man ever again, you tell him there is no Jewel here. Never has been.”

  Donna shook her head as though she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Something that sounded like a light snort came from her nose. “You women,” she said. “You call yourselves Christians.” “I’ve lived here all my life, and there’s never been a woman named Jewel here,” I said, ignoring her dig.

  Donna licked her bottom lip, then turned away from me, reaching for something in the seat beside her. When she showed me the old photograph of Vonnie and the man I now knew to be Joseph Ray Jewel, my mouth dropped open. “Yeah. Right,” she said.

  I reached for the photo, but Donna jerked it back, flicking it to the seat beside her. “That was a wedding photo,” I said, wondering if my voice was registering the amount of shock I felt.

  She looked back at me. “Looks like it, don’t it? You’re quite the detective there, Evangeline. If I ever see we need another deputy, I’ll tell Dad to hire you.” She looked face forward, then back to me within the span of a half second. “Are you going to tell me you never knew about this?”

  “How did you get that photograph, Donna Vesey?”

  “Are you going to tell me you never knew about this?” she repeated.

  I folded my arms. “No. No, I did not.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Now you listen to me,” I said, raising my voice. A car whizzed past me, and I inched closer to Donna’s Bronco. “I don’t know what this is all about, but I do know Vonnie. If she has kept this to herself all these years, there must be a good reason.”

  Donna’s face grew harder still. “I thought I knew her. Apparently not.”

  I didn’t speak for a minute. Jesus, tell me what to say, I prayed. “Donna, please. For Vonnie. Let’s just keep this to ourselves until we can figure it all out.”

  “Tell you what, Evangeline,” Donna said, returning her arm to the inside of the automobile and shifting to face forward. “The day I do what you tell me to do is the day I’ll turn in my badge.” She yanked the gearshift to drive and, without looking to see if traffic was coming, pulled back on the road and drove back down the highway, leaving me alone to wonder what to do next.

  I somehow managed to get back to my Camry, sliding onto the bucket seat, feeling the chill of it penetrate through my slacks. I drove home in a state of shock, anxious to arrive there, to find my place of sanctuary. I needed peace and quiet if I was going to think everything through, to decide if I was going to call Vonnie or just let the chips fall where they may. It would have been different if Donna hadn’t had the photograph.

  The photograph! Where had Donna gotten that photograph?

  Maybe I should call Vonnie, I decided as I turned into my driveway. After all, if Donna knows, then perhaps others know as well.

  Like who?

  Leigh was inching her way down the stairs when I came through the front door. “Where have you been?” she asked, stopping on the second step from the bottom. “I’ve been worried sick.”

  I removed my coat, hanging it on the coatrack. “I had to take a little trip.” I avoided her eyes. “Are you hungry? I can fix us something to eat.”

  Leigh made her way over to me, and I brushed past her as she said, “No, I’m not hungry. I’ve been too concerned to be hungry.”

  I continued on into the kitchen. “You shouldn’t have been. I’m a grown woman. I’ve lived here for many years without having to give a daily report as to my comings and goings, you know.”

  Leigh was behind me. “Sorry. I didn’t know my love for you would be such a burden.”

  I spun around. “I’m not saying that. I’m not saying that at all.” I didn’t need this right now. I’d wanted time to think, not a challenge from my favorite—my only—niece.

  Leigh’s mouth was agape. “Aunt Evie!”

  The hurt on her face caused my shoulders to drop. “I’m sorry. I’ve just got a lot on my mind.” I turned to look at the stove. “I think I’ll have a cup of hot tea. Join me?”

  Leigh nodded. “I’ll get the cups and saucers from the cabinet,” she said.

  When we were seated at the table, steam from our tea curling into the air between us, I said, “Leigh, have you ever had a friend—a good friend—do something that was totally out of character?” I fiddled with the handle of the teacup. “What I mean to say is: have you ever had a good friend do something that left you feeling betrayed?”

  Leigh pondered the question for a moment before answering. “I can’t really think of anything, no. Unless you include Gary’s attitude lately, but I don’t think that’s what you’re talking about.” She narrowed her large eyes at me. “Is that what’s going on? Has someone hurt you?”

  “I—”

  “Is it what Vernon Vesey did? A long time ago when he kissed Donna’s mother?”

  I looked up suddenly. “Oh, no, no, no.”

  She touched the top of my hand with her fingertips. “Because if it is—”

  I smiled at her bravado. “It’s not.” She didn’t look convinced. “Really, I promise.”

  Again, she pondered. “Is it Ruth Ann?”

  “Ruth Ann? What in the world would make you ask a question like that?”

  Leigh shrugged a shoulder. “I dunno. Some people feel a sense of betrayal when a loved one dies. Especially when a loved one dies before their time. You know what I’m saying?”

  I took a sip of my tea before answering. “Well, I suppose you’re right about that. I remember the way I felt when Ruth Ann died, as though she hadn’t tried hard enough to stay alive. As though, if she really loved me, she would’ve fought harder.” My goodness . . . in comparison, those same feelings are very close to what I’m feeling now. Oh, Vonnie! How could you? How could you have gotten married, had a child, given the child up for adoption, and then . . . what? Divorced the father? Does Fred even know?

  “Does Fred know what?” Leigh asked.

  I pinked; I’m just sure I did. “What? Oh. Did I speak out loud again?”

  Leigh nodded.

  “Nothing.”

  “Was there some connection between Fred Westbrook and Ruth Ann?” Leigh asked. She stretched out a bit and rubbed her abdomen.

  “No! Of course not.”

  “Forgive me, Aunt Evie. I’m just trying to understand what you’re asking me here.”

  I stood, picked up my half-consumed cup of tea, and placed it in the kitchen sink. “Let me know when you get hungry,” I said. “I’m going to go lie down for just a few minutes. I’m too tired and too old to play twenty questions.” I started for the door.

  “Hey, that’s cool. But you’re the one who asked me, remember?” I turned to look at her. She’d sat straight up—although as big with child as she was, I don’t know how. “Asked you what?”

  “About whether or not I’ve ever felt betrayed.”

  I thought about that for a moment. “So I did. You said you hadn’t. Now, I’m going to go lie down. If you need me, knock on my door.”

  I didn’t sleep. Of course, I didn’t sleep. But at least my eyes were closed and my body was resting—or at least feigning rest. When I finally pulled my weary bones off the bed and walked back into the kitchen, I found Leigh pulling Chinese food out of a brown paper bag. We’re quite progressive here in Summit View; we have one Chinese takeout restaurant, one Italian eat-in, and one Mexican. Add those to the “real food” menus at Hig
her Grounds Café, and we’re a veritable buffet of international delights around here. There was a day when if you wanted sweet and sour chicken you had to first hope you could find a cookbook with it listed and then make it yourself. Not anymore.

  Apparently Leigh’d had a yen for Chinese food. “I got you some honey chicken,” she said. “I know it’s your favorite.”

  I nodded. God love her heart, she was trying to appease my mood. “Thank you.” I walked over to the cabinet and pulled out plates. “It smells good.”

  Leigh turned and rested her hips against the countertop. “I called Gary while you were resting.”

  I looked over my shoulder. “You did?”

  “Mmmhmm.” She scratched her belly.

  “And?”

  “Maybe praying for him is working. He’s actually asking more questions about my well-being than harping on what he wants.”

  I placed the plates on the table. “Like?”

  “Oh . . . questions like whether I’m getting enough rest. Have I gotten a doctor out here that I feel is competent, which I suppose is for my benefit rather than the baby’s.” She turned back to the little white boxes lined up on the counter. “Naturally he wants to know if I’ve made up my mind about returning home.”

  She picked up four boxes by the little wire handles—two in each hand—and walked toward me. I pulled my chair out from under the table as I asked, “Have you?”

  Leigh sat, reaching for the box marked “S/S Ckn,” which I assumed was her sweet and sour chicken she loves so much. “Nope.”

  I mouthed back “Nope,” then spoke out loud. “There’s no hurry. You’re welcome to stay here as long as you want. Forever, in fact.” I glanced over to the pantry door, where I’d always kept a calendar thumbtacked in place, as I reached for the box marked “Hny Ckn.”

  “Leigh, you’ve got a month left. I suspect we need to talk about setting a room up for the baby. Even if you decide you wanted to return to West Virginia, you shouldn’t fly at this stage.”

  Leigh stabbed at a golden chunk of chicken on her plate, slipped it between her lips, and said, “I shouldn’t have flown at seven months, I imagine.”